


FUBAR

by my_unlikely_hero



Series: Avengers Drabbles [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - Freeform, Drugging, IronWinter - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, Past Bruce/Tony, Poor Tony, Tony Whump, creepy people, past science boyfriends, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_unlikely_hero/pseuds/my_unlikely_hero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is kinda FUBAR. Not that anyone can tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so, so sorry. Blame the bunnies. Read the warnings. No hate please&thanks. Also reviews are love :)
> 
> Also I really feel like there should be more warnings so: seriously, guys. The first chapter is the worst. Read with caution, triggers ahoy.

The man is indescript, and he hasn't given a name. Tony calls him ‘Paul’, for lack of a better tittle. A plain name for a plain guy. Pale hair, kinda blonde but kinda brown. Eyes that were a bit of everything, the hazel reflecting Tony's scared face. And he is scared. He's kind of terrified. 

He had left the party in an indescript blur, and woken up handcuffed in someone's basement. He was handcuffed in some psychos basement, stripped to his bare ass, on the remains of a futon mattress that didn't even have springs for Tony to make use of. 

He's naked and drugged and he doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know anything except he's stuck alone with a psycho. He thinks that's a good reason to be scared, okay? He's not Clint or Natasha. He hasn't been trained for this. He isn't Bruce or Thor or the super soldiers, where he can flex his friggin pinkie finger and flex out of the metal cuffs biting into his flesh. 

The man stands above him. Tony's vision is still blurred and his thoughts are foggy, but it doesn't take Einstein (or Tony Stark) to figure out he's still drugged. 

“You look really pretty, all strung up for me. You like that, Stark? You like someone taking control?” 

No. No he does not, fuck you very much. For a start, he usually prefers to have free range over his limbs. He shakes his head. The gag in his mouth won't let him talk, but he bares his teeth in a snarl. 

“I'll show you who's in charge here.” The man rambles like that, obsessive and possessive, as he strokes Tony's face. Abruptly, his hand pulls back into a fist and he punches Tony in the face. The drugs slow his reflexes, and he doesn't even flinch. He takes the hits to the jaw, the eyes, his mouth. His nose breaks with a splash of blood. He can taste it on his tongue. 

The man stops. He pulls away, standing and stepping back. He stares like he is admiring his work. Like an artist with a painting. Tony thinks he sees the man nod to himself, but his eyes are blurry and watering. 

“Better. But not-” he aims a booted kick at Tony's prone figure. “But not quite enough.” 

He kicks at Tony long after he's curled into a ball, desperate to protect the vulnerable spot where the reactor had been. 

Finally Paul leaves with a satisfied little noise. He comes back a few minutes after with a hose that he aims at Tony. The cold water hits and he can't breath when it smothers his face. For a several long moments he flashes back to a god damned cave. He comes to, shivering and soaked on a wet mattress. The man is gone but he's still trapped. Not a dream then. 

He's left alone for hours. The drifts with the drugs for a while before the effects begin to ease. But before Tony can take advantage the door is unlocking and Paul enters again. Tony sees he isn't a big man- not when Tony is used to having Steve and Thor around- but he probably tops Tony by inches. The genius is fully aware that he's a bit on the short side. Some studies suggest a correlation between growth and childhood environment. 

Tony fights, growling obscenities into the gag, struggling to put impossible distance between them. He kicks at the man and he pulls uselessly at the metal cuffs, his wrists bleeding down his forearms. But Paul is packing a lot of muscle under that air of ‘psycho’, and Tony has nowhere to run on the mattress. A plunger depresses into his neck, and Tony falls limp. 

He thinks it must be morphine. It feels a lot like morphine- he feels like he's flying. He's warm, lying on his stomach, and his thoughts are flighty. He hears the tinkling of a bell- or a belt buckle opening. A pressure settles in behind him, and he struggles to pull away. He's too weak, and hands settle on his thighs, spreading them. His muscles won't cooperate, the fog in his brain is too thick and his limbs feel like cement. 

It hurts more than he thought it would. Paul pressed into him without prep and the only lube was lotion on the mans cock. He forces himself in slowly, every inch burning it's way up Tony's ass. He presses into the mattress- still damp from the hose- desperate to pull away from the pain. He screams into the gag. Or, tries to. 

It lasts for hours, he thinks. Realistically, probably only a half hour, forty five minutes, at most. But every second of it fucking hurts. Every thrust is agonizing and the guy fucks Tony like it's his job to bring as much pain and humiliation as possible. He growls about how pretty he is, how tight and firm and small. He spanks Tony's ass red and bites his throat and scratches down his back. 

Just for fun, Paul shifts his hips to nail Tony's prostate with every few thrusts. He makes him hard, until he's making pitiful noises, before pulling out to come on his back. He leaves Tony wanting, hard against the mattress. Eventually the pain helps to flag it and Tony can pass out. Literally. 

It repeated the next day. A dose of drug and a thorough beating, telling Tony how good he looked, fucked and bruised and filthy. Tony growls from behind the gag, and for the first time Paul releases it. He lets Tony swear at him, slurred and drugged and not at all as threatening as he wants to be. 

“Rapist,” he groans. His voice cracks. He sounds pitiful. 

“You have to see it my way, Stark. A pretty little fuck like you, dancing around playing tough guy, just begging to be taken down a notch. I've been dreaming of this for a long time.” He pauses, staring down at Tony, now used and covered in sweat and come and dark bruises. “You look pretty when you bleed.”

It filters through his drugged haze, freezing his insides. 

 

It's been days, he thinks. He's cursed himself thousands of times, repeating his mistakes through a druggy haze. The positive side of behind doors up on morphine- he can't feel a damn thing. He knows he must be injured because the guy keeps hosing him down so he can see the bruises. That's the only time Tony gets water to drink, is when Paul sprays him in the face. 

He shouldn't have drank so much. That's obviously the first thing that comes to mind when he starts blaming himself for this fucking disaster. 

It's closely followed by ‘why didn't he finish the sensor chips for the self-assemble suit? He had almost finished the redesign from the Mandarin incident. He should have finished those instead of going to the stupid Christmas party. ‘Winter Festival’, technically. It was a week before Christmas, and all of that political correctness crap. He wonders if he's going to miss Christmas. He wonders if he's going to make it that long. 

It would be a shame if he died before he Christmas. The team was planning an actual holiday together. Thor was going to bring Jane, Clint was going to bring Phil. Bucky and Steve had baked gingerbread houses and the Avengers had decorated them like children. They had already put a tree up before the party, and it had been glowing with lights and ornaments. There had been mistletoe and holly put up. It was going to be Tony's first real holiday since before his parents died. 

And Tony was going to miss it. Hell, he might have already. Paul kept him drugged to the gills, too weak and high to do anything useful. Speaking of, the door was unlocking. Pauls heavy footsteps walked towards him. He didn't even feel the needle to go in. This time, Tony's knocked unconscious before the fucking begins. A Christmas miracle. 

The next time Tony wakes, he's alone. He drifts, waiting for his captor to return, but he doesn't. He drifts in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he thinks he hears Natasha, but it's just the draft. Once he even dreams of a vague rescue, but then he resurfaced and he's still cuffed to the fucking futon in the damn basement. 

He thinks he's dehydrated. His brain is still mush, but he doesn't think it's the morphine. Unless Paul dosed him in his sleep, which is pointless. He doesn't see any new needle marks. Still, it's hard to think but mildly clearer than the days before. 

He looks around. No windows or other exits than the door up the stairs. He drifts again. 

He resurfaces hours later. He's shaking, violently. Tony panics. If he goes into withdrawals here, now, after days of abuse and neglect and constant dosing, he'll die. 

He thinks, what would Natasha do? She has surely been in this position before. Hopefully not exactly like this, but still. She would get out of this, why can't Tony? He stares at the cuff and the old pipe and his mangled bloody wrists. His arms are numb from being bound above him.

And then he gets it. He pulls, desperately. It hurts, and he doesn't feel strong enough but Tony keeps pulling because he doesn't want to die here. He thinks that something has to break. The cuffs or a weakness in the pipe or his own hand. 

It's his hand. There's a pop sound, and suddenly Tony is free. He passes out again. 

It's the pain that wakes him. His whole body hurts, down to his core. Now that he's not on painkillers, he can feel some serious damage from the beatings, and what happened after. He doesn't want to think about it. If he thinks about the pain and the nausea he might pass out again. Instead, he rips the disgusting gag from his mouth and forces himself up. He only gets on to his knees, but that's okay. He's mobile. 

He crawls to the bottom of the stairs. He has to rest at the bottom of the step. 

Paul must be gone for good, because Tony has probably been free for several hours, between the struggle to move and the fact he keeps passing out. He must be in really poor condition. He can't think beyond the next step. He doesn't know what he'll do if the man comes back. Die, probably. 

The stairs are slow going. He's still on his hands and knees, but he can't rise to his feet. It takes ages to get to the top but the door opens easily enough. The house looks empty but there's a phone he can see in the kitchen. It's a landline, he hopes it works. When he gets there, he's relieved to hear a dial tone. 

“Thank fuck.” He dials FRIDAY. “FRI, it's daddy. Give me a suit. I need a suit. Now. Track it to me.”

“Done, boss. The Mark 53 is on way.” Her voice lilts. 

“Sir, your team is anxious. They believe you to be in Malibu but that is not your current location. Would you like me to contact the Captain?”

“No, no.” Tony gasps. He can't let anyone see him like this. “Let's go with that. Let them think what they want.”

“You sound unwell. Would you like medical to be informed?”

“No!” He snarled. “Just give me. My damn. Suit! What's the ETA, FRIDAY?”

“Ten minutes, boss.” He hangs up, leaning on the counter to help him stand. He'll need to be upright for the suit. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later the suit is there. It stop outside the door and Tony has to move his trembling legs. He's still naked but the suit is better. 

“Take me to the lab.”

“Sir, I think a hospital might reconsidered. Sensors indicate-” 

“Mute.” Tony says. “Just take me to the lab. Now.” Before he passes out again.


	2. Chapter 2

His thumb was dislocated and then relocated. One of his ribs was broken, a couple more fractured. Most of the bruising on his face had already healed after that first day, and his nose was healing practically straight. The bruises on his body would heal and he could hide them well enough with long shirts. His wrists were infected from days left untreated- twelve days, apparently. He had missed Christmas again. And New Years. 

He was suffering from withdrawals, and dehydration and malnutrition. He hasn't looked in the mirror yet, but he bets it's awful.   
There are more personal injuries that should hopefully just heal on their own, if Tony ate soft foods. 

It wasn't that bad. He was fine. As soon as the scan was completed and Tony fucked off to Malibu, cleaned his self with a cloth and inserted an IV for fluids and nutrients. He took antibiotics and tylenol and pissed in a cup for very discreet testing. He was screwed if that asshole gave him an STD. 

Then he slept for two days. He tossed and turned, drifting in and out of consciousness. He puked and starved until one of his bots began bringing him shakes and medicines. It brings Tony more fluid bags to replace the used ones. On the third day Tony can stand on his own again. Mostly. 

Tony hides in the lab. It wasn't actually hiding, since that's where he spent the majority of his time anyway. And he was eating soups and shakes and vitamin things to help out him back to normal. He worked slowly on things, with lots of breaks and naps to rest. He was taking care of himself, he was fine. 

Showering was less fine, but he could get by with dry shampoo and a wash cloth for a while. Showering left him vomiting on the floor in the aftermath of a severe panic attack. So he just avoided that part and he was fine. And since he was fine, he answered Pepper when she called. 

“Tony!” She sounds aggravated. “Where have you been? You haven't answered your phone, your friends haven't seen you since the Winter Festival! You missed Christmas AND New Years!”

“I was down in the lab. Working. You know how it gets.”

“But you were so excited for the Holidays,” Pepper buys his lie. Thank god. 

“But then I had this great idea and I'm running with it. I'll surface in a few days.” 

He almost says that he loves her before he hangs up, but they're past that now. Pepper made it clear that she wasn't going to watch Tony kill himself playing hero. It was Steve who called next. 

“Stark? You there?” His voice was strong and clear in Tony's ear. 

“Yeah, hey. What's up, Brendan Fraser?”

“Sorry, who?”

“Blast from the past? Encino man? I'm going to have a talk to Wilson about running movie night lately.”

“Sure, Tony. But that's not why I called. You missed Christmas. Nobody has heard from you in a while, and I just-” he pauses. Tony can practically hear his eyebrows furrowing in my concern. “I'm concerned. The team is.”

“I haven't bitten the dust yet. You can pass that message along to everyone else, too.”

“I just thought-”

“I'm a bit busy here, Cap. Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist stuff to take care of. Business don't run itself! Talk to you later,” and he hangs up before Steve can protest. He has this knack for picking out Tony's fake smiles. The team refers to it as his Stark Bullshit Detector. 

So he invents just enough to make his binge reasonable and he heals slowly. By the time he's back at the tower several weeks later, he's healed. Physically, at least. He forces himself into a shower once a week and wakes up screaming when he sleeps but that's pretty on par with Afghanistan. 

He sort of wants to run back to Malibu where he doesn't have to pretend literally 24 hours a day. But that would be admitting something was wrong, and it wasn't. Tony's fine. He can take care of himself, fuck you very much. 

He throws away the futon in the lab where he used to crash on science benders and hangovers. He replaces it with a recliner and finds that he sleeps a little better. He can't even stand the bed. So it's either a recliner or a hammock and people think he's got enough quirks, so a hammock might be a bit too much. 

He fixes the issues in the new suit remodel and puts the implants in his wrists. At least the cuffs didn't leave scars on his wrists. That would have been hard to explain. 

He's been working in finding ‘Paul’, too. The house he had been kept in had been owned by a newlywed couple on a vacation. So Paul had broken in and used it. There was seemingly no relation between the man and the couple. Just unlucky people who's house had been staked. Tony bought it at a handsome price and leveled it to the ground. 

He had no name to go on. Tony found that the man hadn't even been invited to the party, so there was no invitation to clue him. A face. That's all he had was a face, seen through a drugged blur. 

“Fuck!” He throws the tool in his hand. He hears it shatter something. His hands are shaking. They've gotten worse.

He tears his eyes away and reaches for his glass instead. He just refilled it, but he knocks the glass back in one swallow and pours another. He's drunk already and if he keeps it up he will just pass out and not have to worry about sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

He drank until he passed out on the floor. Face down, because God forbid he kill himself. He wasn't lucky enough for that. 

Instead, he wakes up to the stench of body odor and alcohol and vomit. And Steve glaring down at him. Maybe that was what woke him up. 

“‘Sup, Captain Bitch Face?” He must still be drunk. 

“What?” Steve shakes his head, though. Never mind. “You haven't been answering any calls. I got worried.”

“That's cute.” He smirks. “I appreciate the concern. Did your concern compel you to bring coffee? Or doughnuts? No?”

“Maybe you should sleep in a bed, instead of passing out in the ground. You need actual, real sleep, Tony.”

“Sleep is overrated. Sherlock Holmes didn't sleep when he was on a case.”

“Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character. Bucky used to read them all the time. But you are not.” Steve sighs, put upon. For some reason it spikes Tony's anger. 

“I'm busy, Rogers. Spit it out and leave. Youre interrupting genius here, so let's make it short and sweet.” 

He tries to stand, but lurches violently to the side. Steve is the only thing keeping him from falling, his arm wrapping around Tony's waist. Tony pushes away with all of his strength. He doesn't want Steve touching him. He isn't sure he wants anybody touching him ever again. He crashes to the floor. 

Steve, the considerate moron, reaches towards him. Tony can barely conceal his panic. 

“Don't,” he puts his hand up. Thank god Steve stops. Tony's heart was racing but he fights to get to his feet before Steve can offer to help again. Before Steve has the excuse to touch him again. 

“See? Fine.” Tony spreads his arms, like, ‘TADA! See? Look at me, standing and fine.’ 

“You're not fine,” Steve snaps. His patience must be thin. Tony has a knack for wrinkling Steve's tights. “You're drunk as hell and passed out on the floor.”

“I work better when I'm unconscious,” he quips. 

“Why does everything have to be a joke to you?” 

“It's called alcoholism, and it's hereditary. So you can thank your good buddy Howard for that.” Hurt flashes Steves face but Tony doesn't stop. “And by the way, who said you could come into my lab? Unless you invited yourself, which is technically breaking and entering. And I don't have to tell you that's illegal.”

“I wanted to talk to you in person about some very serious matters, but you're too drunk to stand, much less carry a full conversation worth having. You need to shower, eat, and sleep it off.” 

Tony glares at him. “I did sleep, you just woke me up. If you wanna cook I wouldn't say no to scrambled eggs, but I think I'll pass on the shower. Water conservation and all that.”

“Tony,” he says in that no-nonsense tone. 

“Yeah yeah, okay. I'm going, don't get your panties in a knot.” 

He stares at the water for longer than strictly necessary, but he keeps meaning to step inside. His knees shake and his heart clenches and he's close to panicking, but if he doesn't then Steve is going to think something wrong. 

He's drunk enough he has to lean on the wall for balance but he forces himself in. Just his legs at first, and he washes his body slowly, so he doesn't get water in his face. His hair is more difficult. It's a greasy mop, and he can't even dry shampoo it. He gets farther than he had thought he would, but not as far as he had hoped. He gets the shampoo half lathered when he panics. 

There's no water in his face, he's locked alone safely in his own bathroom with Captain freaking America right outside the door. So really, there's no reason for it but then Tony can't breath and he's in that basement again, cold and wet and hurting. He can feel his injuries again, like home had been a dream and he was back with Paul again. 

He can feel the cuffs squeezing his wrists, cutting into them and making him bleed. His ass hurts and he can feel the blood and come dripping down. His head is foggy from the morphine. Paul is spraying him with that hose again, and he can't breath, he's choking and the man is laughing. 

“Tony?” Steves voice brings him back to reality. He was at the tower, safe. Steve was here. He's curled on the bathtub floor. The shower shut off, supposedly by his AI, and Steve was knocking at the door. 

“You ok in there?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah,” he stutters. His voice is wrecked. He hoped he wasn't screaming, but Steve didn't sound that worried. He hears him walk away. 

Slowly Tony rises to his feet. He is still shaking, but he manages. At least the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair and he can dress. He puts on layers under his soft pajama pants and long shirt. He wears tight boxers under the loose ones, and a vest and tee-shirt too. He knows that he doesn't need them but they make him feel better. 

Steves waiting in the kitchen when Tony finally stumbles out. He recognizes the long shirt as one of Bruce's grey ones. It makes him wonder how Tony got it, considering Bruce was still MIA after Ultron and Sokovia. 

“What, did you fall asleep in there?” He teases. Steve presents a plate, placing it on the table because living with the man had taught him to work around Tony's quirks. The man slumps gratefully into the chair. Steve ignores the mans shaking hands and pours him a glass of juice. 

“It is a pretty great shower.”

“Yeah? You should take more of them.” Tony shrugs. 

Tony eats slowly. Sometimes his stomach rebelled the food he tried to eat, and he'd rather not puke on Steve. He often got stomach cramps and nausea not brought about by the booze. Though, that probably didn't help. 

The cheesy eggs seemed to go down well enough and he let Steve fill another plate for him. Steve ate across from him, careful to put distance between them. When he finished. Steve ushered him to bed. 

Tony lies awake for a long time, feeling the room spin but eventually falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony sleeps for five hours. Which means that he has five entire hours to relive hell in his nightmares. Pinned down and drugged while some sick fuck did what he wanted. Which, apparently, had just been to hurt him. Tony can still remember his words, ‘you're pretty when you bleed.’ He just wanted to see Tony hurting. 

Tony can feel Paul behind him, whispering in Tony's ear as he fucks him slowly. It hurts; it always hurts, that was the point. ‘You take it like a slut, Tony. Not even a good one. A cheap whore, I could fuck you all day. I just might’. 

“Fuck!” Tony throws himself off the bed. Sweat sticks his clothes to him, making him feel wet. He tears them away from him, reminded of being left wet and cold after being hosed off with freezing water. 

Tony wakes fully, his anger igniting. His fist flies through the air where he imagines Pauls face. His knuckles crack against the wall once, twice, three times before he has himself under control. He looks at his knuckles and the blood on the wall. He hadn't pulled his punches and it showed. 

He towels off and redresses. He knows it's late, but he stumbles into the kitchen for a glass of water. Or maybe vodka. Except Steve fucking Rogers is sprawled on Tony's couch watching tv. 

‘Fuck it’, he thinks. He walks behind the couch, out of arms reach, and takes a bottle and a glass. Rogers watches him pour one drink and down it, but he stops him at the second glass. 

“Tony, I need you sober for this. Come on, let me bandage those.” Grudgingly Tony puts the glass down. He listens, but doesn't sit. He's feeling flighty, so he goes to the kitchen to busy his hands. Cap can follow him or not. He does. He talks while Tony makes coffee. 

“I need your help with something. Ross wants to give Bucky a trial for the things he did under Hydra’s brainwashing. I need lawyers, and I thought you would be the best person to help.” Cap sets about dressing the wounds on Tony's hands. 

Tony thinks about denying him. “He killed my parents.” They had found records on one of the Hydra raids months ago. After a tense moment, Tony decides that isn't right. He knew the Winter Soldiers brains had been mashed potatoes. Barnes was the gun; someone else had pulled the trigger. 

“No, no; you're right. Sorry, reflex. I'll get right on that. Call in a few hundred favors, see if my lawyers are worth even a quarter of what I'm paying them.” 

“Natasha convinced them that the tower was best for confining him. We have the hulk room, and the Avengers, so they relented.”

“Good, Natasha's scary. She can keep them at bay until we have something.”

Tony flips out his phone and gets FRIDAY to round up his army of lawyers. “They will call you tomorrow. Let me know if they give you any headache.” He makes a shoo motion towards the blonde. 

“Just like that?” Steve wonders. 

“Just like that. Everything's easy when you're a billionaire, remember?” 

“Yeah, but i thought-” he pauses. “I guess I thought you might not help.”

“Steve, Bucky was actually, literally, brainwashed. He was a prisoner of war- twice! He's a World War Two hero. And he's Captain Americas bestie, I'm pretty sure it's unconstitutional or something to just leave the guy hanging. And, uh, you're welcome.”

“Thanks, Tony.” He smiles softly like he wants to hug the engineer. Tony steps farther away, putting a hand up. 

“Nope, nuh uh. No old lady moments, grandma. Get your ass back to Winter Dementia. Don't let him wreck the place.”

Steve nods and turns to leave. He waits until FRIDAY informs him of Steves leave before he takes the scotch and a glass back down to the work shop. 

It's the only human he has for another few weeks. Sure, Pepper calls about business things occasionally, but they keep it professional. Fury calls to ask for money or inventions or answers to mechanical problems. Steve called once more about the lawyers. Basically, people only talked to him when they needed something, and things were back to normal. Tony enjoyed his minute isolation, even if it's not hundreds of miles away.


	5. Chapter 5

For weeks Tony is semi-undisturbed. Phone calls from Pepper and rhodey and Steve are his main interruptions. General Ross called on one memorable occasion to growl at Tony for being a nosy little shit and lending Steve and Bucky his lawyers, basically. That was a good sign, it meant Bucky was getting somewhere on the trial. 

Thankfully everyone was so involved in the Winter Soldier trials that they left Tony alone.   
With no one to reign the genius in, Tony ran rampant about the shop. He surfaced every few days to restock food, but mostly stayed below. He slept in short, 1-5 hour bursts when his body demanded it and he drifted off wherever he was. 

Once it was on the backboard under the suspended IronMan suit. Once it was on the desk. Once he just sat down on the hard floor and napped. He didn't shower because he didn't have anyone to offend with his odor, and he really hated flashbacks and panic attacks. 

He drinks booze to put Howard to shame. He drinks and works and ignores the burns and abrasions and bruises that he earns himself. He drinks until he passes out, picks up one of the half-empty bottles lying around, and gets back to work until he passes out again. It's the same cycle he had with the palladium poisoning. Last time, he was dying. This time he just wishing he was. 

That's how Bruce finds him. Hunched over some piece of metal that must be a new invention, because Bruce doesn't recognize it. Tony is plastered, reeking of scotch and BO. His hands are covered in small burns and other wounds. The soldiering iron slips on his shaking fingers- his hands tremble almost constantly- and burns his thumb. 

“Fuck!” Tony curses, flinging the thing down. He runs his hands through his greasy hair, ignoring the knots Bruce can see pull. 

“Tony?” He feels like he's intruding, after so many months have past. After he had left like he had. 

He wasn't sure what he expected for a reunion. Maybe yelling because Bruce is a shitty person and a terrible boyfriend. Maybe just a cool rejection. Because he had loved Tony and then left. Six months of convincing Tony that he was loved and that he mattered, if only to Bruce. And it had all been shattered in the wake of Sokovia. When Bruce had run like a fucking coward. Because if Ultron was what happened when the two geniuses were together, then there should be as much distance between them as possible. 

Tony had been crying. His cheeks were wet, despite the trembling smile, and he hurried to wipe them away. His eyes were swollen and red, dark from sleepless nights. 

He can actually see how unkempt the genius is. How unwell he has been rests on the mans face. The fatigue makes him seem older. Something is obviously wrong, and has been for a while. He hopes this wasn't because of his leaving. 

For a brief moment he wonders why he wasn't informed of Tony's condition, but he pushes it away. From the state of the place, nobody has been around to see Tony's decline. 

Bruce doesn't expect Tony to run at him- okay, to stumble, because he's obviously plastered. He suddenly finds his self with an armful of genius, Tony's arms wrapping around him to pull him as close as possible. 

“Bruce,” he whimpers. He can hear Tony's voice break. Slowly, Bruce wraps his arms around the other man, letting him sink against him. 

“Hey, Tony.” He doesn't call him baby, because he forfeited that right when he had abandoned him. “I'm back, obviously.” He pauses. “I'm sorry I left, I just… It was easier. To leave than the face you and what we had done. Ultron was our fault, we made him. And if that is what happens when we're together, then I think it's for the best if we keep distance between us.” Bruce flinches. That wasn't something you were supposed to say while you were holding someone. 

He's drunk, but a mask slides in place. Tony stiffens in his arms, and pulls back. 

“Oh. Well, Pepper would approve.” Pepper, who had pulled him aside after AIM and Extremis, and told him the same thing. ‘It's better this way,’ she had said. Better for her, he knows she meant. Which was fine, at least she was safe now. “What are you doing here, then?”

“I was on my way to Brazil. I thought I'd come check on things.” Bruce was saying it again. “I'm not staying. It's best for everyone, this way.”

“Yeah, right. Sure. Of course. I completely understand. You know where the door is, Doctor Banner.” A not so subtle dismissal, but Tony doesn't care. Christ, it's like the universe- fate, or chance or just bad fucking luck- is trying to tear his heart out. As soon as Bruce leaves, he collapses. 

He needs a new project. Something big and elaborate, like the suits. The arm, Tony thinks. Buckys arm, actually. It's a whole new process, made more complicated because he doesn't have the original to use as a template. Tony starts from scratch. 

That's how he spends the next weeks after that. He reads into bio-engineering and medical books. By the end of it all, he could be a specialized surgeon but he has an idea about how to build the sensors connections to measure force. A few weeks after that, Tony has gotten as far as he can without Barnes around. 

It's like hitting a wall, realizing that he has to have human interaction now. That he would probably have to be alone with the guy, because there was no way in hell he was letting Captain Bullshit Detector into his lab with- ‘wait.’ His thoughts grind to a halt. He was fine. He had almost forgot that he wasn't avoiding people, or scared. He was working, like he always did, and everybody else was busy. 

“FRIDAY, where's our newest assassin?”

“I'm not sure who you mean,” FRIDAY replys. Jeez, he really misses JARVIS. Vision isn't JARVIS. 

“James Barnes, come on, FRI. Keep up. Where is Bucky? What's he doing?”

“Mister Barnes is currently on the roof.”

Huh. Okay, to the roof it was. He takes the elivator, and squints at the light. He should have brought sunglasses. It's March now, and it's hard to believe three months have passed. 

“Barnes. A little birdie told me you'd be up here. You're not planning to jump are you? Cause I'm pretty sure I could save you before you hit the ground, but it'd be a stretch.” Now that he has a suit that flies and assembles itself to his body, he could totally do that. Barnes is standing at the very edge, looking around. Tony might have to. 

“The city's changed.” 

“Yeah, that'll happen. Given time, everything changes.” Tony quips. 

Bucky nods like Tony's given him real advice. Which is odd, because most people get annoyed when he's being a smartass. 

“Steve doesn't understand. He tries to, but it's different for him. He was frozen, the time passing him by didn't matter, he's still Steve Rogers from Brooklyn.”

“But you can't be Bucky from the ‘40’s. You can't help it. Too much time has passed, too much has happened. I get it. It happens to everything, to everyone. He’ll catch on.” Tony says. And wow, didn't sound like a total douche. Bucky nods again. 

“Come on, quit pouting. There are more important things to do, like check out the shiny new thing I made you.” 

He must not pose Tony as a threat, because he follows him to the elevator and down to the shop. Tony leans against the wall for support as everything moves around him. Funny, because he had tried to sober up a little for this. 

“You reek,” Bucky says, not unkindly. 

“Yeah, well water and I aren't on a good basis right now. You have your issues, I have mine.” Thankfully Bucky has the sense to leave it at that. Huh, Tony already likes him more than Steve. They get out in the work shop. 

“Right this way, Optimis. Have a seat and check this out.” Bucky remains where he is, watching Tony with cautious but curious eyes.   
“Or you can stand, yeah. Whatever.”

He brings the arm over, and ignores how the man towers over him. 

“TADA!” Tony places it on the table to the man to look at as he wishes. “I thought you might want to have that off. Knowing Hydra, it wasn't pretty getting it on. And I just thought this might be a nice change. It's not done, and you have final say, of course. I can add weapons, or explosives, or anything else you want. And we can paint over the surface, if you want it black or-” Tony rambles. 

“Cool. What does it do?” 

“Oh.” Tony startles. This guy keep surprising him. “Cool? Cool! Uh, nothing yet, I need to look at the connections you already have, to finish the designs on the new model. But after that, you should be able to use it after we hook it up. Let me just go get some tools and I'll take a look-”

“Now?” Buckys eyebrows furrow. Not into a scowl, like Steves, but upwards in concern. 

“No time like the present, and all that.”

“You're drunk, and you've been down here for, like, weeks. I was just clearing my head up on the roof, I was going to go to bed. I think you should, too. Come on, pal.”

He steers Tony back to the elevator, and for some reason, Tony was going with it. The man had been so open and honest and trusting with Tony- something nobody did- and Tony was inclined to return the notion. 

They got out at Tony's floor, but Bucky pauses. “I've been staying on Steves floor, but I need a little space. You think I could borrow your guest room?”

Tony shrugs, and points to the other side of the flat as his own. “It's all made up, help yourself.” Now that he's up here, he's exhausted. 

He wants to sleep, but…. Buckys right. Tony reeks. He can't sleep like this. For several long, agonizing minutes he stares at the empty bathroom. He debates the pros and cons of a shower vs a bath. In the end, he decides that he would rather risk flashbacks from the cave than the basement. He's sure he'll have enough of those once he's asleep. 

The waters shallow, and it's a little easier to avoid getting water on his face. In the end his hair is shampooed and his body is clean again and he even shaved. He deems it a success, if not improvement. 

He dresses in long, comfy pajamas- soft cotton, not silk- and collapses into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Rough hands, pulling at his hair and his thighs and his groin, tearing him apart. Teeth clamp down on his neck, piercing the skin and drawing blood that drips in rivulets down Tony's skin, staining him. He marks Tony as his with beatings and bruises; he claws down Tony's back and ass, down his thighs, and he bites. Vaguely, Tony wonders if any will scar. 

‘Slap slap slap,’ the sound of skin on skin fills the room, and Tony's strangled pleas. 

“Kill me, please. Just- just kill me. Please, please.” He's pathetic. Howard would probably have helped beat him if he heard Tony crying and begging on the floor like an infant. 

“I'm not done with you yet, Stark.” He thrusts harder, tearing something inside the smaller man. It rips a scream from Tony's throat. 

“Fuck, stop! Stop, stop, please.” He begs, but the man never listens. “You're sick. You're a rapist.”

“You're so pretty when you bleed.”

And then Obadiah is there too, his suit spotless and face smug. “He's right. You look good down there, boy. It's a shame I never thought of that.” He hears Obadiah laugh, but it comes out sounding like his father. 

“No time like the present,” suddenly the man is stripped, settled behind him. He pushes in behind Paul, both laughing down at him as they both press into him. It hurts. God, it hurts. They're tearing him in half, mocking his cries. 

“Kill me, kill me, kill me-” 

‘-Slap slap slap slap-’

“Nobody loves you anymore. Pepper left, and we all know she was your only redeeming factor.” Obadiah taunts him. 

“You're selfish, and spoiled; worthless. You can't even get free from cuffs. What kind of hero are you supposed to be? You're useless. You can't even take a cock right.” Paul joins him. 

“I knew you wanted it,” he said. “Look at you, aching for it. You're hard, you like it.”

‘-slap slap slap slapslapslapslap-’

It hurts, they're killing him slowly. Tony Stark, fucked to death. 

“Kill me. Please, stop. Kill me, already, just kill me you sick bastards! Kill me, kill me-”

 

 

Bucky crashes in the guest room, but the bed is too soft and the room smells like cinnamon and now that he's here, he can't sleep. 

“FRIDAY?” He calls for the AI

“Yes, Master Barnes? How can I help?”

“Where has Tony been?”

“He has been in the tower for several weeks, sir. I'm not sure what you mean.”

“No, before that. After the Christmas party… Everyone was worried cause Stark went AWOL? Where was he?”

“I am not aware of sirs whereabouts at that time. However, he left the party with one male companion. Upon his return, he went to the Malibu residence.”

A pained and fearful scream echoes through the flat, even into the guest room. The only other person on the floor was Tony, sleeping in his room. Fearing an attack, Bucky runs across the apartment. Another curdling scream erupts. He opens the door and scans the room. Tony is alone here, thrashing on the bed. He screams again, and Bucky has to force the flood of memories away-- memories of other people screaming as the Winter Soldier killed them. His heart races, but he can't panic because Tony's still screaming. 

“Tony, Tony!” He knows better than to shake the man. Buckys attempts at waking the man get more desperate as the man screams again. He's shaking on the bed, trembling with what must be terror. Bucky can hear his disjointed pleas. 

“Kill me, please. Just kill me.” Tony begs. 

Buckys blood freezes in his veins. How many times had his victims begged? On their knees, covered in blood and begging him to stop-- so many of his victims. Desperate to stop the noise, he grabs Tony's shoulder. 

“Tony, please! Wake up!” He has to stop the screaming. 

Tony jumps back, away from the dark figure towering over him, and off the bed. He presses into a corner, eyes wide and foggy from sleep. The screaming has stopped, but Bucky still fights to reign in his own panic. He can't help Tony is he's panicking. 

“It's April 4th, 2015. We're in the Avengers Tower in New York. We're safe here, it's just the two of us. It's April 4th-” Bucky repeats this like Sam taught him to. Slowly his own racing heart slows and the panic ebbs away. When he looks up, Tony's eyes are clearing and the man bolts to the bathroom. Bucky can hear him wretch into the toilet. 

He sits on the floor to wait, slowly repeating the date so he stays calm. Finally Tony emerges from the bathroom. His grey sweats and shirt are wrinkled and far too big for his skinny frame. The shirt hangs loose off a shoulder, and Bucky can just make out a round scar that has newly healed. It looks suspiciously like teeth marks on the mans throat and the joint of his shoulder, but he doesn't mention them. 

“You okay?” He asks Tony. His voice shakes. Slowly the man nods as he slides down the wall beside him and sits just out of reach. 

“Did I hurt you?” He feels compelled to ask, eyeing Tony like he can check for injuries under the mans clothes. 

“No. Not you, you didn't hurt me.” Tony mumbles. After a second, he scoots a big closer, just enough to feel the warmth radiating off of the super soldier. 

“I heard you scream, I thought there was an attack.” Bucky doesn't know why he feels the need to explain himself. Except that he's still sitting on the mans bedroom floor, both of them presses alone the shoulder and thigh now. They can feel eachother trembling in the aftermath of panic. 

“Did I scare you?” Tony asks, sounds confused. 

“Yeah, well. Screaming usually implies someone is hurt.” I didn't want you hurt, goes unsaid between them. 

They sit in comfortable silence for just a moment before Tony is leaping into his feet again. 

“That was a lovely nap. Well, since we're awake and well rested, lets get back to work. Idle hands, and the devils work, and all that jazz. Come on, Sarg. Hop to!”

Tony leads the way back down to the shop. Bucky doesn't mention that he hasn't slept yet, or that Tony only napped for two hours. He certainly doesn't mention his own hands shaking, or seeing Tony's fingers tremble as they worked.


	7. Chapter 7

It was slow going work. Tony didn't know that Bucky could actually feel the thing as acutely as he did. It was hard getting the case off, with all of the small, elaborate pieces that served as the skin, but eventually Tony was able to see the wiring. They slowly stripped it down, removing what they could and workin around what they couldn't. Tony worked diligently, but gently. 

“Can you feel this?” Tony is gently prodding at the wires connected to the sensors. 

“No.”

“This?” 

“No.” Bucky sits stiffly, staring straight ahead like a programmed robot. Tony's bots showed more life than the guy. 

“We can stop, if you'd like. We don't have to do this all day. We can go with whatever you're comfortable with, buddy. Just say the word. You know green-yellow-red, right? I don't know if they did bdsm back in your day, but they're pretty obvious safe words. Green for go, yellow for wait, red for stop. And just like that, were done. Easy peasy. You got it?”

Bucky nods, stiff. His jaw is still clenched, but at least he's looking at Tony now. 

“Give me a color, big guy.”

“Y-yellow. I don't want to stop, not yet. Can we take a break?”

“Sure. I don't know about you, but I'm going to raid Clints flat for caffeine. You coming?”

Bucky nods, wanting a break from the shop and tools. Together they rode the elevator up to Clints room. He's almost as obsessive over coffee as Tony is, and it's a real testament to how fucked up he's been that he let himself run out of coffee. 

Clint and Natasha are on the couch with something on tv. Some sort of romcom. 

“Whoa, red. Just a coffee run. Clint, I'm out of coffee, where is yours?”

“I made a fresh pot of you want to watch this with us. We just put it on and we haven't see you in, like, months. Literally. I wondered if you'd just fucked off to some island.” 

“Can't get rid of me that easy,” he changes a questioning look at Bucky, beside him. He doesn't have to ask, because Bucky shrugs with a little nod, and spreads across the other couch. And seriously, where did Barton find TWO purple couches? They weren't even a set, he had to have bought them separately. 

Tony fills a mug with warm coffee, hands it to Bucky, and then fills his own. This goes noticed, but unmentioned by the spies. Tony crosses his legs and sits at the end of the couch, with Buckys feet in his lap. As the movie progresses, they shift. Bucky sits up, closer to Tony. Slowly they melt together, much like Clint and Nat, with Tony half leaning against the assassins braid chest. Tony accidentally sleeps. 

He's a warm, steady weight on top of Bucky. Neither of them had really slept earlier, and it was dark now. Their bodies were demanding rest and Bucky dozed off, too. 

They woke up the same way. Clint and Natasha had finished the movie without them, and left them to sleep on the couch. Tony wakes up first. He recognizes that he's sprawled on top of the other man, on his stomach because that's the only way he could sleep now. His head is resting on Buckys chest, and their legs tangled together in the night. 

Dawn is breaking out the window. Huh. It's been years, he thinks, since Tony had anything close to a regular sleeping pattern. Slowly he pried himself from Buckys arms wrapped around him. He's not surprised when the soldier wakes. They stare at eachother for a second before Tony is scrambling away, embarrassed. He mumbles something about Dummy and fire extinguishers and leaves. Bucky is left half-awake and alone.

That's when Barton comes in, seeing flustered and alone and still on his couch. 

“Aw, Buck, no. Let me get my aides.” His voice is slickly off without his hearing aides, but a second later he's putting them in, bright purple like the rest of his things. Seriously, it's a thing with the guy. Clint makes a pot of coffee and pours three cups. Natasha will wake when she smells it. 

“Tony run off on you? It's kind of his thing, ask the Playboy models.” Clint hands a cup to Bucky and perches on the back of the couch. 

“Models?”

“That's not what I meant. Don't take it personally when Stark bolts after a little affection. He's weird like that. Just keep bothering him and he'll warm up to you. It's how it was with the rest of us.”

Slowly, Bucky nods and follows down to the workshop. There isn't a doubt in his mind that's where Tony is. He's right. The man is bent over the new arm, checking the connectors for what must be the thousandth time. 

“I hope you weren't waiting on me,” he apologizes. 

“No, no. I think we should take a break today. From this. I have a few things Fury. I'll let you know when I'm ready for you.” Tony doesn't turn away from what he's working on, his back to the other man. 

“Yeah, or I could stay and keep you company,” Bucky offers. He sees Tony's back tense for a moment, stilling the workers hands. Tony thinks. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, but he doesn't want to be alone with the man, either. Tony's edgier today than before. His hands shake. 

“No. Go, uh, make sure Capsicle hasn't fallen into a freezer, or something, would you?. You know how senior citizens can be. Um, being one yourself, that is. I'll be no fun down here anyway. So go, shoo. Begone, before someone drops a house on you.”

Bucky looks confused, but says “is that a reference?” He learning that most of the odd things the man says are references to movies and the like. 

Tony rolls his eyes. He talks as he begins herding Bucky towards the door.

“Yes, Wizard of Oz, you should find Rogers and catch up on your movie reference list together. Yeah, I know you keep that little notebook around. Write that down. And then Encino Man and Blast From the Past.” 

Finally the man leaves. Tony briefly wonders if the clench in his stomach is nerves or relief. He decides it must be the later. He gets to work.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony works because it's better than deteriorating in bed, thinking. Because Tony is a certified genius, he has to think, his brain never shuts off. Not until he's stupid drunk, or high on something. But that's not legal, and he's an Avenger now. So, yeah, coke was off the table. 

Besides that, he already went through rehab for that shit, and he doesn't want to do it again. Well, actually, it was his stay in the cave that really made him kick it, but that's just a minor detail. 

The funny thing is, he really does have work from Fury. He's still a consultant. He died shoving a nuke into space, but he still has the word ADVISOR stamped on his file.

So he works on solving it. Playing with chemicals to find a better fuel for the carriers. He remembers to wear his goggles because Howard had beat the shit out of him once or twice for forgetting them as a kid. He's bent level with the vial, dripping it slowly. 

Tony has been berating his self all day. Great, his sleep is back to a normal schedule. But seriously, what was he thinking cuddling with Barnes all night? There was no way the guy had appreciated that. He should have just shoved Tony to the floor. The guy was from the 40s, they didn't cuddle men. God, he shouldn't have let Bucky touch him. He might catch something, Tony thinks bitterly. He was filthy, after all. Paul had seen to that. 

Fuck, he was worthless. Even drugged, anybody else on the team could have managed that. Hell, Tony's been higher than that on cocaine. He just didn't try hard enough, he was useless. Anybody could sit in a suit of armor and shoot people. Steve had called it the very first day; he was nothing without his armor. He was a coward. A used, broken thing. Of course nobody wants him. 

Except psycho Paul, obviously. Fuck, who is still loose god knows where. Tony thinks he would do everyone a favor and off his self, but he still has ‘red in his ledger’, as Natasha would say. He's still got buckets of blood to absolve, so he can't just quit now. Later, maybe. 

Now, though, his hands are shaking and he adds just one drop too much, and it's exploding in his face. The vial shatters shards around the area, cutting little nicks into the exposed skin of his arms, face, and neck. The force throws him onto the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs. His head smacks against the unforgiving floor and he sees stars. 

Shit, he thinks. So much for that. Dummy finally rolls over with the fire extinguisher and let's it spray all over Tony and his work table. He takes a moment to regather his thoughts, and heaves hisself back up. He's just making an adjustment on his equation when Steve and Bucky come running in. 

“Tony! Are you okay? FRIDAY said there was an accident.” 

“It was minor,” he waves a hand vaguely. Rechecks his math for the hell of it, and sets about cleaning the smoking residue of his fuel experiment. Bucky notices a cut on his forehead from the shattered glass slowly peeking blood onto the mans brow. 

“Hold still, you're bleeding.” Bucky goes to wipe at the wound with a rag, but Tony flinches away. 

“No! Don't touch the blood.” He's still not in the clear for some diseases that Paul might have passed on to him. He cleans the blood his self. 

“At least Doctor Banner could keep you from blowing yourself up,” Steve teases, but Tony flinches. Steve didn't mean to rub salt in the wound, he just has a habit of sticking his foot in his mouth around the engineer. 

“He's fine, Stevie. Don't be a nag.” Bucky defends him. 

“I wasn't being a nag,” Steve sounds affronted. 

“You were nagging,” Bucky persists. 

“I was not,”

“You were,”

Tony watches them go back and forth for several moments, like kids. Bucky pokes at Steves peck, and the blonde grins. He pulls Bucky into a headlock, and while Tony and Steve both know he could easily break out of it the assassins just squirms, and pinches his ribs. Steve yelps, and shoots away. Like a dam breaking, Tony bursts into a fit of giggles. 

Bucky looks over. Tony's face is lit with a bright grin. His chocolate eyes are bright with amusement and the man realizes he's never seen Tony laugh before. He grinned, knowing he put that look there. He watches him giggle for w little longer, and Steve elbows him the side. 

He forces himself to look at the blonde instead. Steve quirks an eyebrow, with a smirk. Bucky thinks he must have been staring, but he shrugs. Tony was cute, and Bucky was kinda queer- actually, they didn't say that anymore. Bisexual was the widely accepted term, now. 

“Let's go out to lunch. I was thinking of grabbing a burger. You wanna?”

Tony ponders about it more than strictly necessary, and Steve has the sense to stay quiet for once. It has been a while since he's seen the outside world. And a cheeseburger sounded perfect. 

“Yeah, okay. I know this great place a few blocks away, we can walk.”


	9. Chapter 9

Steve makes Tony redress in soft jeans and a long black Guns & Roses shirt. It was vintage; Tony has had it, and several others, in the back of his closet since MIT. He wears layers again, but the night is just cool enough to make it work. Bucky waits in the commons and they walk together. 

Bucky loves modern showers. He always had hot water, even if he stayed in there all night. The water pressure is a constant massage against his sore back and he can change it to be gentle on the days where his shoulder aches. And the soap is so much better than the cheap bars from the 40’s. 

Tony is just the right height for Bucky to pull him close as they walk together. Tony can appreciate the smell of cologne and Bucky when the man puts his arm around his waist and guides him closer. It's something new, someone holding him.

The last time Tony had been with a man was at MIT, and those had been drunken exploits to piss off Howard. Nobody had ever just pulled him close, like in the cheesy romance movies he hates watching. But Bucky seems harmless enough, and the physical contact is a pleasure Tony rarely allows himself so he allows it, just this once. Hell, he was cuddling the guy just this morning. 

The diner is quiet now, and they find a booth in the back. The radio plays overhead and the lights are bright but not glaring. It's a nice atmosphere and slowly they really talk for the first time. 

“-so I look up, and there's this scrawny blonde kid in the tree, arms covered in scratches with this little cat stuck on a branch. I just know this crazy kid is gonna get his self killed, so I start climbing up after him. Stevie slips, of course, and just hands there, forty feet in the air. 

“I'm half way there and the branch starts snapping. I just know the punk is gonna fall, and sure enough, it breaks just as I get to him. I barely grab him, but I help him climb back down. We're finally on the ground, and Steve says, ‘you forgot the cat.’

“He insists that the cat be saved, it was Kelly Bishops kitten, only a few months old. I mean, real little, who knows how it got that high up the tree. Anyway, I'm tryn’ to leave but Stevie shoots those big eyes at me- you know the look.”

“The patented ‘all the kittens in the world will die if you dont’ face. He has sent many a villain to surrender with that one look alone, and the guy has, like, an entire arsenal of looks.”

“The shame one,” Bucky remembers, cringing. 

“Shame on you, shame on your cow, that's the one!” Tony cries, giggling. “I get that one a lot. So, anyway, you're rescuing a kitten from a tree, like a fireman.”

“The cats climbing higher this whole time, almost fifty feet up. And the higher I go, the weaker the branches got. So I stretch as far as I can, stretching to get the cat, and the branch I'm on breaks. Right out from under me, and I fall! Luckily, I grab this branch before I hit the ground, and I'm sorta just hanging there cursing at the furball. And as I'm hanging there, it starts climbing back down. Passes right by me, and just leaves. Ungrateful little pest.”

Tony laughs, popping fries in his mouth as he listened to the tale. He can imagine Steve, blonde and too skinny and bossy. Bucky, messy brown hair and freckles and skinned knees and knuckles. 

“When I was eleven, I snuck into the lab. It was something I could really only do when Howard was away or passed out. I was working with the chemicals, and some new equipment and I messed up. Set the levels too high, too soon, and accidentally overloaded the system. The synthesizer exploded, and took half the lab with it.” He didn't add how Howard had beat him and whipped him with a leather belt afterwards. 

The food was hot and greasy and delicious, the best burgers this side of New York. Tony paid the bill without looking, left an extremely generous tip, and steered Bucky to an ice cream shop. 

“Steve loved Howard. Thy have a serious case of hero worship for eachother. Howard was obsessed with finding Captain America, until the day he died. It's funny, because Steve is the same way. He thought Howard was a ‘real swell guy.’” 

“I kinda thought he was a scoundrel. Always sleeping around with dames, and leaving ‘em without so much as a goodbye.” 

“Homophobic, too.” Tony adds, laughing. “No wonder he didn't talk about you. You bisexy heathen, you.”

“Homophobic? No. Hell no. The first time we met, he came on to me in a less than polite way, and I socked him in the mouth. The man wasn't picky, himself.”

“What, seriously? You're kidding me. You've got to be joking. Howard? Howard Stark? A good six inches taller than me, black hair? Mustache? Bag of dicks?” 

“Yup. Stevie introduced us at a bar with the rest of the commandos, and he was already half-cocked.” Beside him, Tony giggles at the word. “So he comes stumbling over, says something vulgar and cops a feel. I punched him right in the kisser. He never liked me much after that.”

Tony snorts, pressing into Buckys side. “Yeah, funny how that works.”

They're at the tower now, facing the elevator and unsure what to do. Bucky doesn't want to leave, but knows he should. He stares down into Tony's brown eyes. Not just brown, but dark enough to blend with his pupils. The color of black coffee, or dark chocolate, and they sparkle with intelligence. Tony stares back at Buckys own blue eyes, clear and sharp like ice; until he's distracted by the mans lips, soft against the dark stubble around his jaw. 

Bucky kisses him. He leans down, one hand at Tony's hip and the other cupping his cheek. He kisses Tony slowly, softly, like he's testing the waters. It's sweet and experimental and Tony is thoroughly enjoying it when the other man pulls away. 

“Geez, you're so pretty,” he heard Bucky say softly, like a caress. Fuck. Like Paul, beating him bloody and stupid, and laughing whenever he got Tony to cry. ‘You look pretty when you bleed.’

“Goodnight.” Tony is quick to put distance between them, but if Bucky notices he doesn't mention it. 

“Goodnight, Tony. Try and get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow.”


	10. Chapter 10

It becomes a thing. Bucky drags Tony top side for food with the team at least once a day, and outside for an actual date once or twice a week. They go to the movies, and museums, and galleries and hold hands and each other. The assassin makes him attend team meetings and movie nights. Two more months pass by without much notice. 

Tony finds that he loves being held, and Bucky is always happy to comply when the engineer pulls on Buckys arm- flesh or metal, it doesn't matter- and wraps it around himself, forcing the other man to hold him. He secretly revels in the way Tony doesn't flinch or hesitate around his prosthetic the way most do. If anything, the engineer adores it. Bucky has a suspicion that it would be one of his kinks, but they're taking this slowly. Tony was a surprisingly tactile man, but shied away at the strangest moments. 

Tony feels like he's on the upward swing from things, after Pepper and Paul. His nightmares are still very much a thing, Paul haunts him when he sleeps, but now he can usually shower without panicking. Between showering again and making new friends, everyone seemed to overlook the fact that he was off the reservation for a week and a half. Or that he had drank his self into unconsciousness at least twice a week, though he usually waits until Bucky goes to sleep. It's when Tony is alone with his thoughts that things start to spiral into dangerous territory. 

Also, Buckys new arm works perfectly; it's smaller and lighter than the original, but with enough strength to lift Tony easily. He found that Tony loved to be cuddled and coddled a little, and carried around. Bucky bad been happy to oblige, often doting on him with coffee and water and food. After Bucky remembered that he liked baking, and had filled the entire counter top with apple, blueberry, and cherry pie; also, various cakes and breads and rolls. Bucky found that the new arm was just as precise as his flesh arm, he could even crack eggs with it now.

Tony and the rest of the tower residents had been pleasantly surprised to wake up and find a dessert feast waiting for them instead of breakfast. Even Steve had been pleased enough to go along with it, only giving a cursory mention of the health benefits of an actual breakfast. 

The installation was fairly painless after he converted the sensors to an alignment base. By then Bucky was so used to the genius that he hardly panicked at all until the arm was actually removed. And then Tony had kept him grounded with his rambling and teasing flirting. The guy hardly shut up to breathe, Bucky swore he talked until he was actually blue in the face. 

Tony and Bucky have commandeered a couch for themselves, while Thor occupies the corner chair, Natasha and Clint curl together on the love seat and Steve and Sam take the last couch. Buckys arms are wrapped around his waist, and Tony is cuddling into his chest. His nose is pressed into his neck, and every breath puffs warm air onto his collar bone. Tony listens to the steady thump-thump of his heart. 

“Come on, Sammich, it's a stupid rule. We've all been on front lines, I don't even know why we have that stupid rule.” The archer whines. 

It's Clints turn to pick movie night. Despite their unofficial rule of ‘no war movies’, the archer puts in Hannibal Rising. Sam starts to protest for the good of the group, but really, they are all adults here, and the battle parts are short. In the end, everybody relents. Steve and Bucky have no idea what it's about, and Tony is snoring lightly on his boyfriends chest. 

Bucky can tell that it must be at least 48 hours since Tony has slept, because the man doesn't rouse during the first part of the movie, despite the considerate noise level. On screen, a young Hannibal and the girl, Misha, are being called away from the water. Bucky remembers families moving to the countryside during the war, trying to flee the bombs. On screen, a large explosion kills the mother and father. The noise echoes through the room. 

 

Tony shoots up from Buckys chest with a yell. He wakes to the sound of explosions in his ears, lights flashing in the dark room. He jumps from the couch, confused. This isn't the bright desert of Afghanistan, but he can't see and it's too hot and the sounds of battle rattle his nerves. 

Tony's breath quickens. The light flashes again, eliminating the room around them for a split moment. The living room. Tony is in the living room, at the Avengers tower. It's movie night, he remembers. Someone had put on a war movie, despite Tony's ban. Did they forget they had that rule? His chest is aching and he can't breath. Tony stumbles from the room. 

Bucky watches Tony leave, after his moment of panic. Someone had already paused the movie, looking towards the door Tony had left through. 

“I forgot that's why we don't do war movies,” Clints voice is small. “It was Tony's idea.”

Bucky has read Tony's file, multiple times. The genius had been caught in an ambush, pinned behind a humvee. One of his own stolen weapons exploded only feet in front of him, resulting in his three month capture. Including open heart surgery, free of painkillers from what Tony had eluded to. Also, torture. An entire month of torture before Tony agreed to build their weapon. And they put in a movie with bombs in it. 

“Shit,” Bucky growls. A hand rubs at his brow. He shouldn't have let them put it in, but he hadn't thought as to how the battle scenes could affect his boyfriend. “I'll see if he's okay. Don't bother stopping the movie, we won't be back.” That much was clear. 

Clint flinches at his tone, but nods. “Tell him I'm sorry,” he adds as Bucky leaves. 

“Tell him yourself, Barton.”

It wasn't hard to find the man. Tony was back in his shop, working even though he hadn't slept in days now. He was welding, with Nirvana playing over head. Bucky had FRIDAY lower the volume before he could speak. 

“Hey, Tony.” 

The other man ignored him. Bucky sits down, not talking and watching Tony work while rock music filled the silence. He watched Tony burn his hand once, but the man just snarled and cursed, not even pausing in his work. Bucky knows better than to interfere with genius. After the fourth time, though, Tony jumps up. 

“Fuck!” He yanks the welding goggles off his face, and throws them across the room. “I can't even watch a movie! What is wrong with me? Don't answer that!” He barks. He's pacing the space between them, fingers tapping erratically on his chest where the arc reactor used to be. 

“And you!” Tony pins Bucky with a glare. “What are you doing? Here, with me? Shouldn't you be upstairs watching war movies with Captain Perfect?”

“Steve? I'm dating you, Tony. Not Steve.”

“Dating? Getting a little presumptuous there, aren't you?” He sneers, all mirth and condescension. “I'm Tony stark, in case you forgot; I don't date. People don't date me. Especially not sexy war heroes.”

“We've been dating for weeks. The art museum and that little Italian place on Third Street, and the bakery on Williams? Those were dates, Tony.”

“Fucking fuck!” Tony yells, throwing something from the table again. “You can't do that! You can't just date me, that's not how this works! You don't get to tell me it's okay, because you're going to leave! Just like Jarvis, and Pepper, and Bruce. You may think it's a great idea to date me now- hey, hot billionaire here- but then what? You get to know me, and- and- and I'm not enough! I'm not every enough, or I'm too much, I don't know. But it's never right! It's never me, Barnes. So just save yourself the trouble and leave now.”

He watches the man walk away slowly. It's for the best, really. Tony ruins everything he touches.


	11. Chapter 11

Of course, Tony should have known that's when trouble would come. It's been five days since Tony and Buckys breakup, and Tony's gotten maybe five hours of sleep between the two times he dozed off during a project. His eating is back to erratic snacks when Tony remembers maybe once a day, if he's good. So, really, he shouldn't be surprised when FRIDAY wakes him up with bad, terrible news. 

“Boss, it appears someone has posted several pictures of you on the Internet.” 

“So? Fuck ‘em, the paparazzi post shit all the time.” Tony takes a swig from a coffee mug, wincing as he swallows motor oil instead of caffeine. “Damnit, Dummy, I'm going to donate you to the Girl Scouts! This is motor oil, not coffee.”

“The pictures are quite…. intimate, boss.” Now that, that was worth worrying about. The last person he had been ‘intimate’ with had been Paul. His heart stutters.   
M  
“Fuck. Shit, show me what you've got, FRI.”

At least a dozen screens appear on holograms around him, each from a different website; all flaunted pictures of Tony. Facebook, YouTube; Redtube and Heavyr, and other porn sites; there was also the Inquisitor, the Inquirer, and Buzzfeed; Fox and other news stations, too. 

Most were pictures. Pictures of Tony face down, covered in bruises and come; others show his face, drugged and pale and too blurry to show anything except his own disgusting face and abused torso. It all looks innocent enough, and it's not like Tony doesn't have an entire YouTube channel dedicated to his nudity. 

The videos are worse. It's the same three clips shuffled through the porn sites. Tony, definitely cuffed down in all of them. Sometimes he's crying and begging. Most of it he vaguely remembers through a druggy haze. Some of it, he doesn't remember. He definitely doesn't remember getting whipped; it's worse when he's spanked, bare ass to the camera, showing his stretched and used ass. It's really popular on the rape porn sights, but it has Tony puking into the waste bin.

The worst part is that Pauls face is clear in every video. He wanted to be seen, to be recognized as the man that fucked the great Tony Stark. He hardly has anything but booze and stomach acid to wretch up, but his stomach rolls with nausea, regardless. 

“FRIDAY, take them down. Hack the sites, buy them out, overload them, I don't care. Do anything, just get them.” Tony rushes to a keyboard, shaking and cold and petrified. He might be in shock. A video of him, tied down and fucked, had exploded nationwide, he's allowed to be a little shocked. 

Tony hurried to send bugs to crash the news stations computers. His fingers brushed over the keys, barely containing his panic as he fights to control the damage. 

Pepper calls six times, Steve twice that, Clint and Natasha once; Bruce called him twice, and he knows it must be bad then. Finally he has FRIDAY disable all incoming calls. Unfortunately, Bucky cuts right to the root, and enters the lab without notice. 

“No.” Tony speaks before Bucky had a chance to. He doesn't turn from the screens, too busy typing. “No, whatever it is you want to tell me, I already know, okay? But I'm busy here, so I don't have time to listen to you scream at me. And anything you want to say, I'm probably already thinking it, okay?”

“I'm not gonna yell, baby. I thought you'd be busy trying to control this mess. I saw the news, they're sh- well, I didn't want you to be alone. Don't mind me, Tony. I'm right here.” 

Everything is a mess. Tony's bare ass is the front page of every paper, the first article on online page, the topic of every discussion. Some people are rating it on a hot-or-not scale, some are calling it a publicity stunt, others are saying it was Photoshopped. Some people think it's hot, and most think it's disgusting. Everybody thinks it's inappropriate. The worst thing is that once it was out on the Internet, it was free. Tony could never take all of it down, and everybody has seen it now anyway. 

“Fuck! FRIDAY, keep on it.” Tony orders. He goes to his liquor cabinet, grabs the largest bottle on the shelf, and drinks it straight from the bottle. He drinks in long pulls, burning down his throat. Bucky worried that he might have to take the bottle away but he thinks Tony might be justified this time. 

“Fuck! God damnit! I'm going to kill that son of a bitch when I find him. I'm going to beat the shit out of him and then I'm going to unload every single round I have until he is nothing but a smoking shit stain on the fucking ground. Don't you get all moralistic on me now, Barnes, or so help me, I will flip right the fuck out! This isn't freaking out!”

“Funny, ‘cause it looks like you're freaking out,” Bucky calls his bluff. 

“I am not freaking out! If anyone is freaking out, it's you. I'm fine! It's fine, it's fucking fantastic,” Tony's breath hitches, and for a second his mask slips, but then he is shrugging his shoulders, and something akin to Buckys Winter Soldier mode slips into place. 

“Right. So.” He claps his hands together. “Back to business. FRIDAY! Give me the newest model, darling. The one with the extra missiles.” 

“Tony, I'm not sure you should-”

“I didn't ask your permission, Barnes.” Tony interrupts. 

“Geez, Tony. Would you just listen for once? I don't think you should go get this guy. You're not in a very ok place. Let Steve an’ Natasha go get him. Stay with me, sleep on it, and I'll take you to go beat the shit out of him tomorrow. Yeah?”

“You saw the video! You know-- you know what he did, and it was so much worse! It was so much worse, being on the other side of that camera. I'm Iron Man, but I couldn't stop some-- some psycho from going Misery on my ass. From-- from locking me in a-a- a fucking basement, okay? How cliche is that?” He's stuttering, and Howard had spent tens of thousand of dollars to fix that little problem, but it had returned after Afghanistan. 

“I couldn't get out of handcuffs! That was the only thing keeping me there, a-a set of metal fucking handcuffs. And I'm the only superhero who can't get out of metal fucking cuffs! Circles! Iron Man, bested by a psycho with metal fucking circles and a ton of fucking morphine.” 

“Alright.”

“What?” That was not the reaction Tony was expecting. 

“Alright. Let's go, get your suit.”


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, Paul-- or Ryan Nelson, was his real name-- ended up being surprisingly close. Close enough that Tony flew him and Bucky to the location down town after they had decked out in battle gear. He was 97% sure that the rest of the team would be following closely behind them, if only because FRIDAY was a tattle tale. 

“Follow my lead,” Tony says behind the mask.

“Sure, sugar. I've got your six.”

It's an apartment building, so Tony can't just blow the damn thing to a crater. They enter with caution, more out of habit than actual danger. Tony was in almost three hundred pounds of hot red and fuck-you gold armor. He'd like to see Nelson try anything now. 

They don't knock. Bucky stands back and trains his weapon on the door. He nods his readiness to Tony, who kicks down the door. Nelson is in the bedroom, with Tony's porn video playing on the computer in front of him. Bucky shoots the machine before Tony can. 

A gauntlet cased hand wraps around the mans throat and lifts him into the air, legs kicking pathetically. Bucky keeps his weapon on the man, and watches his boyfriend be badass.Tony slides the faceplate up. 

“Yeah. Hi. Remember me? Tony Stark, in case the name slipped your mind. You stick me in a basement for twelve days? Any of this ringing any bells in that dull brain of yours?”

Tony shakes him, just for fun. 

“Yeah, I bet you know why I'm here then. You're one sick puppy, you know that? I mean, I get it, people love me. There are entire fan clubs out there dedicated to this ass.”

Bucky growls his agreement. 

“But most of them are teenage girls, not men with drugs and a Hostel movie fixation.”

Bucky hears the stomp of feet running up the stairs. He's willing to bet it's the other Avengers. A shame, because Bucky thinks this guy might deserve to die. He was certainly willing to let Tony kill the guy. 

“They're coming,” he warned Tony. 

Tony watched the man struggle in his grip, face turning blue. His eyes start to fade, and Bucky thinks the team might be just a moment too slow, but then Tony drops him to the floor, where the man wheezes, grasping at his throat. 

“Iron Man,” Steve calls. 

“Hey, Cap. You're late to the party.”

“My invite got lost in the mail,” Steve sasses. Tony briefly wonders if he had taught Bucky that, or vice verse. 

“Well, you're here now. I'm just finishing up, but you might want to turn around for the next part. Your upstanding morals, and all that.” 

The suit whirls as the plates shift, letting Tony step out in the sweatpants he had in the shop. 

A booted foot kicks out at the mans chest, his stomach, his ribs. Tony kicked him around for several minutes before Bucky could hear the subtle hitch in his breath. Bucky stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on, Tony. Let's go. Steve can take this trash out.”

Tony nods slowly, and steps back into the suit. Bucky sees the tears just brimming his eyes, but he doesn't mention them. Tony flies them back to the tower, and when he steps from the suit Bucky can see his tears have fallen down his face. 

“He didn't even want anything,” Tony reveals, letting himself relax into Buckys arms. “He didn't demand money, or weapons, or inventions, or anything else. He never asked for anything. He just wanted to hurt me. He said-- he said I was ‘pretty’ when I bled.” 

“I bet Steve takes lands a hit or two on him before they get him to a cell. The spies, too. We love you, Tony.”

The man nods, slowly. “I guess I love you, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

Tony stepped out of the elevator, kicked his shoes off at the door, and crawled on top of Bucky who was laying flat on the couch with a book. Therapy always sapped Tony's energy, and Bucky was glad to be a bed if it helped his boyfriend recover from the hour of battling against his own head. 

“I had a nightmare last night,” Tony says. He's barely a whisper, but Buckys enhanced hearing picks it up anyway. He listens quietly, rubbing the hand Tony wasn't holding up and down the mans back. The doctor had been urging Tony to talk more openly about his thoughts and feelings. The real stuff, not the encrypted babble or media smile. 

“I dreamed I was back with Pau- with Nelson. Which is normal, I mean, I dream about the place all the time. But then you were there.” His voice drifts impossibly quieter. “You were laughing; you and- and Howard, and Steve.”

“I'm so sorry, darlin’.” 

“You took a turn. You and Steve, you both-” Tony breath hitches a sob. Bucky pulls him closer, nosing at his messy hair. 

“Shh, it's okay, sugar. It's all over now.”

Tony nods his head into Buckys chest, but he can still feel his shoulder shaking as he tried to hold back his sobs. 

“I'm so fucked up. You're going to leave me.” He hears Tony whimper minutely. 

Surprisingly, it's progress from when he would keep his thoughts and emotions bottled up. Tony had been hiding his emotions from the entire team, from everybody in the world, save Rhodey, from before he could talk. 

Howard had paraded his ‘perfect’ son through the media like a show dog from an excessively young age; Tony had been expected to be genius, and charming, and everything he was today. 

As a result, He was emotionally stunted, and a lot ADHD, and a list of other things. Even Pepper didn't get Tony to face his emotions. So as sad and wrong and heartbreaking as Tony's words are, it's an improvement. 

“No, kitten. Never. You're stuck with me-- who else would work on my arm, huh?” He nudged His boyfriend's side gently. 

Tony doesn't respond, simply burrows deeper into his skin. 

“You're amazing. Even on your bad days,” that's what there was now, bad days and good days. “Even on your bad days, or, hell, even your worst days. I love you, Tony.” Kisses the top of his head, not really expecting much of a response anyway. 

Bucky sighs, and scoots Tony up so his head is pillowed by Buckys shoulder, and Tony presses his wet face into the joint of his lovers neck. He's still crying, silently, but that's okay. Sometimes Tony just needed to cry; he had a lot of pent up trauma to deal with, some with long before Nelson had gotten his hands on him. Howard had been a really shitty father. 

Buckys metal hand snakes under Tony's tee shirt to rub his back. His flesh hand was massaging his scalp, and Bucky took care to tangle their feet together. Tony's hands curled into Buckys shirt. They lay in silence for a long time, until Tony calm down. Eventually both men drift to sleep, just as they are, there on the couch.

 

The downside to living with the Avengers is that they are all incredibly sneaky. As in someone, Natasha or Clint-- Bucky thinks it was Nat, Tony thinks it was Clint-- had posted photos online and all over the tower. Tony curled on top of Bucky, tucked into the mans arms. 

That was how Steve found them when he came up to help with dinner an hour later. It was cute, and since Steve doubted he had time to sketch it before one of them woke, he took a picture on his phone and immediately sent it to every single person in his contacts list. And then posted it on his Facebook and Twitter and tumblr and every other site he could think of.

It was Clints idea to print them and tape a cope to every single surface of the tower. It was adorable, and embarrassing, and the perfect prank for Steve to pull. He even got away with blaming Clint.


End file.
